


What Kind of Day Has It Been

by just_another_classic



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Politics, American Politics, F/M, Politics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-25 16:42:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17124986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/just_another_classic/pseuds/just_another_classic
Summary: Emma Swan was one of Washington’s best lobbyists, and she is about to be offered the role of the lifetime: Deputy Director of Legislative Affairs for the President of the United States. But when her boyfriend, Killian Jones, the Press Secretary, lets it slip that he spoke to her potential boss about her, Emma questions if she’s receiving the position on her own merits or because of who she knows. Is it a giant misunderstanding?





	What Kind of Day Has It Been

**Author's Note:**

  * For [distant_rose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/distant_rose/gifts).



> It’s time for the presentation of my Hub SS. A very long time ago (aka a few months) @distant-rose prompted me with a series of political CS AU prompts. One of them involved Killian working at the White House, and Emma getting a job there, but she was worried he somehow pulled strings. Anywayyyyyy, I finally wrote it. 
> 
> Ro, I apologize for being the worst question-asker, but I am so so glad to be your Santa. It was almost as cool as being your friend. I hope this brings cheer to your busy holiday season, and provides a useful study break. <3

“ _ Ohmigod _ , can we have a picture?”    
  
Emma hid a smile behind her travel mug of coffee, watching as her boyfriend became flanked by two starry-eyed undergraduate students. Killian flashed his winning smile — the one that landed him on the top of Washington’s Hottest Political Operatives last year, and she knew the young women by his side were swooning in more ways than just one. 

“Apologies, love,” he said to her after. He slid his gloved hand into her free one, and pulled her closer to his side. Emma could still hear the girls excitedly commiserating, no doubt discussing which hashtags to use to show off their photo with the Press Secretary to the President of the Goddamn United States. She still wasn’t over that part. She doubted she ever would be. 

“Please, you’re not sorry one bit.” She bumped her shoulder against his, reveling in the way the tips of his ears turned pink — and not because of the winter weather. “Don’t act like you won’t be scrolling through the OnlyatGW tag looking to see what they said about you.”

“I will not! I’m not that vain,” he argued, his voice taking the petulant tone of a teenager, which meant he — or more accurately, his assistant, Smee — would be doing just that over the next few days. “Besides, you don’t even know if they were GW students.”

“We’re literally on GW’s campus.” 

“We’re in Foggy Bottom.”

“Which is GW’s campus,” Emma pointed out, no doubt waiting for him to whine about urban campuses. “Besides, it’s not like Georgetown students would deign hobnobbing around with the common folk to venture into the city proper.”

“I’ll have you know your President attended Georgetown,” Killian countered. Emma wanted to point out that it wasn’t necessarily a defense. Regina Mills, now  _ Madame President, _ carried an air of haughtiness wherever she went. Not that it wasn’t totally deserved. The woman was incredibly intelligent, holding degrees from Georgetown and Princeton, not to mention accomplished. She’d had the titles of Mayor, Representative, and President. Regardless, that didn’t stop the various news pundits of skewering her on air for her pretentiousness and how she didn’t relate to ‘Real America’, whatever that meant. 

“Yeah, well, your big boss isn’t here and the GW students are.” A strange, almost hopeful, expression crossed Killian’s face for reasons that Emma couldn’t quite place. Filing that thought away for later, she tugged his hand. “C’mon, walk me back to my office. I’m getting cold and I know you have to get back.” 

They had met for a quick lunch at one of the many fast-casual salad places that popped up over the city seemingly overnight. Emma had been craving the totchos at Tonic, a pharmacy-turned-bar further into campus, but Killian had limited time with meetings and the endless corralling of the White House Press Corps, and she knew she had to take what she could get. 

It wasn’t easy being in a romantic relationship with the most public facing staffer in the Mills Administration. He was constantly busy, always on call, and she thought he hair was turning prematurely grey — well, about as a premature as a thirty-six year-old-man could get — due to the stress of it all. But that’s what happened when you served at the pleasure of the President. Besides, it wasn’t as if she didn’t also have her stressful and busy periods. Whenever budget appropriations and major bills loomed on the horizon, leaving work before 10 pm felt like a luxury. 

_ Such is the life of Washington’s Hottest Power Couple,  _ she thought. Not that anyone outside of Mary Margaret, Emma’s roommate when she first moved to Washington, called them that — at least to Emma’s face, that is. Will Scarlet had tried, and Emma had dumped a glass of water over his head in retaliation. 

She could play dirty in and out the courtroom, thank you very much. This was one of the many reasons why she was a pretty damn good lobbyist.   
“Assuming the political gods don’t conspire against me, I’ll try to be home at a somewhat decent hour tonight. Perhaps then we can crack open that bottle of wine we’ve been hoarding and relax for a spell?” Killian asked when they reached the building where The Queen Group was located. He quirked his brow in a way that Emma found to be most adorable, and she leaned up to kiss him before answering. 

“I thought you wanted to save that for a moment worth celebrating?” she asked. The bottle in question had been a gift from Regina Mills herself, fermented with grapes grown in her family’s vineyard, after the close of her campaign. Killian, being the overdramatic and sentimental man that he was, had decided that he wasn’t going to open it until a time worthy of drinking wine gifted from the President of the United States. 

“Every day I spend with you is worth celebrating.” Emma snorted. “And perhaps I found out some good news that I want to celebrate later.”

Her eyes narrowed. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“You’ll know soon enough.” The man had the audacity to wink.  _ Asshole.  _ “At any rate, I’m expected back at the office. I’ll see you tonight, love.”   
  
He placed a kiss on her cheek, and promptly darted off before she could attempt to ply him for more information. She had no idea of what he meant about ‘good news’. It wasn’t as if he was expecting a promotion. He already had a pretty ideal gig, and she knew he wasn’t planning on leaving for at least another year or two. She wondered if it had anything to do with any of the West Wing information he wasn’t allowed to share with her. Maybe it had nothing to do with work, but instead family. Maybe Liam and Elsa were expecting? They last time the couple visited, Elsa had confessed that they were trying to conceive. 

_ God, they would have beautiful babies. _

She and Killian had only discussed babies in the theoretical sort of way. It was something they both wanted, but at the current points in their careers, neither wanted to add the additional responsibility of caring for an infant. Besides, they weren’t married, or even engaged.  _ Yet,  _ a traitorous voice whispered in her eye. 

Could that be Killian’s reason to celebrate? Was he planning on proposing? Emma pushed away the thought as quickly as it entered her mind. It was doubtful that Killian would propose on a random Wednesday night — he was far too dramatic for that sort of thing..   
  
She walked back into her building somewhat in a daze and directly to the elevator, uncharacteristically forgetting to wave to Anton the Front Desk Security Guard. Now that she was thinking about Killian proposing, it was hard to get the idea out of her mind. Months ago, the thought of him dropping down to one knee would have, to quote Ruby, “sent her running to hills.” But now the idea made her feel warm inside, secure — and that was more terrifying than anything else.    
  
She’d always been a bit gun shy regarding interpersonal relationships. She could trace that flaw — because, though it was deserved, she still considered it a flaw -- back to the day she was born, to when her parents abandoned her on the side of road. She’d bounced from home-to-home after that, never really finding a place or close friends. She thought she had found one in Lily, but that went to hell. That lack of stability didn’t make for the most trusting of adults, even if things did work out in the end. 

Emma honestly didn’t know where she would be had it not been for her final foster placement — the Nolans. David and Mary Margaret Nolan had welcomed her into their home with open arms. David was a state representative, so Emma was sure her placement had everything to do with wanting to score cheap political points instead of actually wanting to care for a disaffected teen. 

Emma had never expected that she’d still be keeping the family photo Mary Margaret had insisted they take her first day with the family on her desk fifteen years later. And yet…   
  
The Nolans were not what she expected them to be.

She had assumed they’d be fake...plastic...only for show. She’d assumed Mary Margaret Nolan would have used to the family photo for some gain as a politician’s wife. But no, she was simply alarmingly sentimental. They asked about her favorite foods and books. Mary Margaret took her shopping for new clothes and assisted her with her homework. David filled her in on the inner-workings of government and secretly took her out for pizza whenever Mary Margaret was on a health kick. 

They watched television shows together. Had family game nights. They offered help with homework. It was all so saccharine…

...which was why Emma attempted to screw it up as soon as she could. She’d learned before that even the “good” families never lasted. There was no use waiting around for them to kick her out, so she would force their hand. So, she stole a couple of watches from the pawnbroker in town. She made it so she would get caught, and caught she had been. Things were easier that way.

Only things didn’t turn out how she expected — par for the course of life with the Nolans.

David Nolan convincing Mr. Gold not to press charges hadn’t been a surprise — of course, he had to protect his optics. What surprised her was that they didn’t send her back. He  _ should _ have sent her back. That’s what people like him and his wife were supposed to do. But they didn’t. The Nolans sat her down and had a long talk about it. They hugged her, like they were the family from fucking  _ Full House.  _ They also didn’t, however, let her off the hook completely.

They made her volunteer. “Community service,” they said. It would teach her a lesson while also giving her something to put on her college resume. (Because they actually cared about her getting into college.) So off Emma went to assist Mary Margaret in planning the Miner’s Day Festival — which she hated — and over the summer up the state capital to help David with constituent services.

“I don’t get why you do it,” Emma had said on day, watching as David mulled over the pros and cons of an upcoming pension bill. 

“What do you mean?”

“You’re not like most politicians, that’s all,” she’d replied. “You’re not soulless, like, you actually care.”

“Well, there’s your answer, Emma. I do it because I do care.” She remembered how he had sighed deeply and moved from his desk to sit by her side on the Nolan’s overlarge sofa. “I’m not in this for the money or fame, but because I believe this is the best way for me to make a difference, just like how Mary Margaret believes teaching is the best way for her to make a difference.”

“That’s pretty cheesy.”

“In the short amount of time that you’ve known me, when have I never not been cheesy?”   
  
The had been, and still was, “never.” David Nolan still encapsulated the concept of cheesiness well into retirement age as he did when he was younger. It had actually been him, and not Mary Mary Margaret, who bought the t-shirts emblazoned with “Nolan Family” on the back he insisted they all wear the day their adoption of Emma had finally gone through. 

But even beyond the cheesiness, that conversation had always stuck in the back of Emma’s mind.  _ How would I make a difference,  _ Emma had pondered. She knew early on that she loathed teaching with every fiber of her being. Volunteering with David’s re-election campaigns never enthused her. It wasn’t until she was ‘forced’ to join a club — for which she chose Speech & Debate — that Emma found she was actually good at being persuasive. When she was accepted in college, she had decided to major in political science, because that was familiar. Soon, a path began to reveal itself to her, and after a couple of internships Emma knew how she would make a difference: lobbying. 

Her career path was an odd mirror of David’s. Like him, she had chosen to work in field that was more or less considered a hive of scum and villainy, aiming to further line to the pockets of the top 1%. And, to a degree, that reputation was deserved. Many lobbyists did only care about corporate interests — but there were many who also advocated for prison reform, reductions in gun violence, healthcare reform, and the rights on minorities across the spectrum. The Queen Group, where she worked, tended to focus on lobbying for causes that primarily impacted women and children. Emma, herself, had successfully aided in lobbying for laws expanding the protection of victims of domestic and sexual abuse and increasing the adoption tax credit. This was how Emma made a difference, and she felt damn good about it. 

“Hey Emma!” The eager voice of the firm’s top Policy Researcher, Belle French, pulled Emma abruptly from her thoughts. Belle approached her quickly, a stack of color-coded files in hand. “Here’s the stuff you requested. I think stats of trafficked kids might be particularly appealing to Senator Gold. You know how he gets about those things.”   
  
“Thanks, Belle. I really appreciate it.” Belle also wasn’t wrong in her assessment of Gold. He was a jackass tof the highest order, but Emma could also consistently count on him to sponsor or at least take interest in legislation dealing with children. And while supporting kids sounded like something everyone should agree on, the how of it was often a point of contention. “Do you have any information on a state-by-state breakdown? If we get some good stats on California, Fisher might also swing.” 

“Will do.” 

“What would I do without you?”

“Die, probably,” Belle replied with a wink. Emma wasn’t sure she could dispute that fact. “I’ll get that to you by COB.”

“You’re the best.”   
  
Emma weaved her way back to her desk, Killian’s  _ whatever _ momentarily forgotten as she rant through a list of Representatives would might be open to listening about earmarking more money to efforts focused on curbing human trafficking. She was so focused on her thoughts, that by the time she got to her desk and dropped the stack of files and her phone down, Emma realized that she had missed two texts from Killian. 

**Heads up if you get any calls from the 202 code, don’t assume they’re spam. Please answer.**

Followed by, in close succession:

**I promise at least one won’t be spam.**

Emma stared at her phone.  _ What the hell was going on?  _ Whatever it was involved someone from the local area code calling her, but what about? Knowing dwelling would do no good, and that she had too much work to do, Emma set her phone aside. That would be a ‘later’ problem —but she made sure to turn up her phone’s volume as not to miss a call. 

An hour later as Emma working her way through her inbox, her cell began to ring, the default Apple ringtone startling her. Her screen indicated that it was an unfamiliar number, but from the 202 area code. 

“Killian Jones, if this is spam, I’m going to murder you…” Emma muttered. She moved to close her office door, unsure of who was on the other line or what they were discussing before she answered. “Emma Swan speaking.” 

“Emma? Hi, this is Mal Draco. How are you doing today?”

“Um, well, fine. Good. I’m good,” she sputtered. Mal Draco was the Director of Legislative Affairs at the White House. She was wicked smart with an incredibly impressive resume even ignoring her position within the Mills Administration. To Emma, she was sort of a professional role model — and Mal Draco was calling her. “How are you?”

“Excellent. I’m considering strangling Speaker Spencer, but what else is new?” She laughed, and Emma joined her, though she was sure her own voice sounded fake. “Listen, let’s cut to the chase. I’d like for you to take some time to come over to talk about the deputy position. I want as little time between Glass leaving and the new person coming on as possible. Is that something you would be interested in discussing?”

“Of course, yes, definitely.” Emma was sure if her heart was attached to a monitor, her pulse would be off the charts. 

“Wonderful. I’ll have my assistant send you some times. I look forward to speaking with you. I’m particularly curious to hear your thoughts on the latest CR.”

“I have many.” Which was true. She had very many thoughts on the latest CR and what she thought the Democrats had to give up and what they should hold their ground on. “I look forward to speaking with you.”

“Same.” After exchanging a few final pleasantries, Mal Draco hung up on the other end of the line.

Emma leaned back in her office chair, her head spinning and heart pounding. Mal Draco, Director of Legislative Affairs at the fucking White House, wanted to discuss her soon-to-be open deputy position. It was her professional dream. She pinched herself to ensure that she wasn’t just doing that.

There was no way this could be real, could it? When news had gotten out that Draco’s deputy, Sidney Glass, was stepping down to take a Pharma lobbying position, she had entertained the idea -- as had practically every other Beltway lobbyist. But she never imagined…

“Holy fucking shit.”

Emma quickly opened her personal email account, where sure enough, a message from Draco’s assistant was sitting and waiting for answer. Emma cross-checked the the potential dates and times provided with her calendar, and fired an answer back. She would have to come up with an excuse explaining why she would be gone on Thursday afternoon, but that was doable. OBGYN appointment? No, people would assume she was pregnant. Dentist? People would absolutely know she was interviewing elsewhere. She had plenty of sick days saved up, but she had to ensure that she was seen lingering around the EEOB in professional attire. But that was just a small issue, dwarfed by the amazing opportunity that had fallen into her lap.

No, not fallen. She worked hard for this. She deserved this. She was Emma Swan. Potentially Emma Swan, deputy Director of Legislative Affairs. She liked the sound of that title. 

She grabbed her phone. 

**_You will never guess who just called me_ **

Emma knew Killian was busy, and likely wouldn’t respond immediately, and she was correct. Another hour had passed by the time her phone began to buzz again. Emma was actually a little surprised that he was calling instead of texting, but she didn’t mind.

“Hey babe,” she greeted. She was still on cloud nine, and strategizing on what she could discuss with Draco. “Guess what?”

“Does what I’m guessing involve the Great Dragon of Capitol Hill?” His voice was teasing, though there was an undercurrent of pride; however, all Emma could focus on was that he apparently already knew she was getting the call.

“Um, yes, actually. It does.” She shouldn’t be surprised. He had warned her, without explicitly saying what it would be about. So why was a knot forming in her stomach. “She wants to talk to me about the deputy position.”

“That’s excellent, love! Truly. When Mal talked about it with me, I told her that—”

“Wait — you two discussed me?” 

“Well, yes, why wouldn’t we?” he responded with a laugh. “No worries. I only said nice things and kept it decidedly PG.”

“I’m glad you didn’t tell the Director of Legislative Affairs about our sex life.” She kept her tone light, not wanting to let on that her excitement was quickly fading as their conversation continued. “Look, I’m a little busy at the moment, so maybe I can talk tonight?”

There was a pause. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, just distracted by the CR, that’s all.” It was a lie, but she didn’t want to let on her feelings over the phone now. Besides, she actually was concerned about the upcoming CR vote. 

“Aren’t we all?” Killian mused. “Well, I’ll let you go. Assuming that we don’t invade another country or a SCOTUS justice kicks it, we can celebrate.” His voice lowered. “And maybe rate things a little NC-17.”

“Reign it in, tiger. We don’t want the press pool assuming you’re trying to have sex talk in the oval. The last thing Regina needs is a sex scandal.”

“Look who’s worried about optics now. That’s usually my job.” Emma could practically hear his smile. “I love you, Emma.”

“I love you, too. Bye.”

Emma waited until the distinct sound of Killian ending the call before she sat her phone carefully on her desk. Her earlier giddiness had been replaced by a sense of gnawing self-doubt that she hadn’t landed the interview because of her credentials, but because of who she was sleeping with. She was well aware that politics was a “who you know” kind of field, built on networking and recommendations passed along. Hell, she been at one of those networking happy hours when she had met Killian. But still, she wanted Killian’s role in her maybe getting the job of a lifetime to be absolute zero. 

Some might call it misplaced pride, but Emma considered it caring about her reputation. Politics as a whole was still a Good Old Boys club. She knew how people talked, especially when it involved women and sex. It had been one of the reasons why she’d initially been wary of even going out on a date with Killian, back when he was just the Communications Director to the Speaker of the House. She hadn’t wanted her integrity put into question. If she was sleeping with one Hill staffer, she was sure enough to get more passes and maybe the reputation that she slept with them all.

God, and with Killian being in the position he was in...he was the most public facing staffer. Even outside of the government-focused at the local universities, strangers people recognized him. Hashtags were dedicated to him. If she got a job at the White House, she wouldn’t be surprised if some blogger with an axe to grind with the administration would make a ‘thing’ out of it. What was even more maddening was that if their roles were reversed, she doubted anyone would question if Killian was the one who got the job.

“ _ Fucking shit! _ ” She slammed her hand against the desk. 

Truth be told, Emma was also angry. Angry at the situation. Angry that Killian had talked to Mal Draco about her. Angry that she was dwelling on optics, and not on the amazing opportunity. 

That anger carried over throughout the rest of the work day. She stayed late, partially because she wasn’t ready to head home, but also to prepare for a long day of meetings on the Hill the next day. It was cold when she left the building, the chill souring her mood even more. She took comfort in the fact that the late hour ensured she could find a seat on the metro. She attempted to read, as was her favorite pastime on the train, but her mind was far too distracted.

If she was offered the position, she would take it. There was no question about that. But she did not like the doubt that had seeded itself into her mind. She wanted to get by on her own merits. It was why she didn’t apply to the college her adoptive parents had attended, nor accept any internship opportunities back in Maine. She didn’t want to get by as David Nolan’s daughter, and she didn’t want to do the same as Killian Jones’ girlfriend. The many, many rom coms that Mary Margaret was obsessed with hadn’t prepared her for this. 

She walked slowly from the metro station to the row house she and Killian rented together. She remembered when he had suggested moving in together. It had been the morning after Regina had won the election.

“I like this,” he had said that morning as he twisted his fingers through her hair. His voice had been thick with sleep, and God, they had both been so terribly hungover that morning. But they had been so happy.

“It’s called hair.”

“I meant waking up with you,” he’d replied. He then kissed her softly. “I would like to do it every morning.”

“Okay.”

“Yeah?” The surprise had been clear on his face, even has his smile dazzled. “Every morning?”

“Every morning.”

They had found a place during the transition. Killian had prioritized the Capitol Hill neighborhood, wooing her by pointing out that she could walk to the pretzel bakery she loved. They’d found a row house, its door painted bright red — “ _ It’s your color, love, _ ” Killian had teased. She always felt a bubble of warmth whenever she turned the corner and saw that house, and despite her foul feelings that night, she was unable to suppress a grin when she saw the lights shining bright in the winter night.

“Emma?” She heard Killian call out from the kitchen. Her favorite record was playing in the background. “Hope you don’t mind, but I picked up some Italian from that place in Bloomingdale! I ordered you the Saffron Mafalde.”

Also known as her favorite meal from her favorite restaurant in town. She had to remind herself that he was happy for her. The pride in his voice had been evident over the phone. He didn’t know about her tumultuous feelings. Emma hung up her keys and shed her coat, giving her a moment to brace herself a battle. She doubted he would understand.

“Emma, love?” Killian suddenly appeared before her, a bottle of wine in hand. He had long since changed out of the suit she saw him in this afternoon, and was now dressed in jeans and a dark sweater. He still wore his anchor socks, however. Killian, for as cool as he tried to appear, subscribed to the George H.W. Bush School of Patterned Socks. “What’s wrong?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re a bit of an open book, darling,” he replied. His brows knitted in concern. “Did something happen at work? Is your family okay?”

Emma knew she that she should ask him to sit down so that they could calmly talk it out. That’s how David and Mary Margaret worked out their feelings. It was the mature way to handle conflict. Emma, however, wasn’t feeling particularly mature that night. 

“Why the fuck would you talk to Mal Draco about me?” Her voice was louder than she intended it to be. “Look, I get that you want the best for me, and that’s nice—”

“Emma—”

“—but it’s important to me to get a job on my own merits. I want to be hired at the White House because I’m a fucking badass—”

“—you are a fucking badass—”

“—not because my boyfriend decided to pull some strings. My career and reputation are important to me—”

“ _ I know _ .”

“—and having you going around and trying to hook me up with dream jobs isn’t what—”

“Emma, stop!” This time it was Killian who raised his voice. Emma abruptly stopped her argument, not fully surprised by Killian’s interjection. She watched as he sat down the bottle of wine on the entryway table, before he turned back to her and crossed his arms.

“For what it’s worth, I never once attempted to hook you up with a dream job. I knew you’d bite my head off if I even tried, which you are now,” he said pointedly. 

“Then why did you say that you talked to Mal about it?” 

“She was the one who talked to me about it. She thought I would find it interesting that you were at the top of their shortlist. And, just so you know, that reason I never told you that earlier was because I didn’t want you to accuse me of meddling,” Killian added. Emma’s anger was quickly dissipating, only to be replaced by regret. “She also wanted the Communication team to be aware of the situation, should anyone jump to conclusions...like yourself, apparently.”

She could feel Killian’s anger radiating hotly, even as his tone remain measured throughout the rest of his speech. “Killian, I--” The words died in her throat as she struggled to find the right words to say.

“At any rate, because you are such a ‘fucking badass’, I did pick up some dinner to celebrate, which is now probably getting cold. I don’t wish to argue any further, so let’s just eat.”

“Killian, come on.”

“Swan, you made you feelings apparent, and there’s nothing I can do to rectify that. So, please, let’s just have our dinner.”

She considered arguing further, but refrained. As dinner wore on, she realized she should have pushed for reheating the meal later. Conversation was stilted, and she could tell Killian was still wounded from her accusation. Besides…

“No offense to your boss, but this wine is not better than Two Buck Chuck...and it goes for a lot more.” Emma grimaced at the glass in her hand. So much for the Mills special label. 

“It’s Three Buck Chuck now,” Killian corrected. He had a habit of going out of his way to correct her when he was annoyed. It was petty, and Emma hated it, but she let it go. “Besides, she’ll be your boss soon enough.”

“You don’t know that. I haven’t even sat down and interviewed with Mal yet,” Emma said as she stabbed rather forcefully at her pasta. 

“You’ve got it. You know how these things go. This isn’t some hillternship. They wouldn’t bring you in if they weren’t serious, so unless you bungle it up significantly— which you won’t — you’ve got it.”

He was right. That was how these things went, which had only heightened her earlier excitement. This was almost certainly happening. 

“So how long have you known I was up for the job?”

“Swan—“

“C’mon, you can at least tell me now,” she prodded. “Everything is already out there, and it’s not like this dinner is going super swell.”

He stared at her blankly for a moment before sighing deeply. “I’ve known for about a week. I didn’t know she was going to call you until this morning, however.”

“Which is why you were so giddy at lunch.”

“Which was why I was so giddy at lunch, yes,” he confirmed. “I was really looking forward to celebrating with you.”

“Until I fucked it up,” she replied, irritated.

“I really wish you didn’t put words in mouth. I never said that.” He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. 

“You’re right. Sorry.”

The expression he gave her told her that he didn’t believe she was actually sorry, but he didn’t say it. He didn’t need to. He was being a bit of an ass, but it was reactionary. He honestly hadn’t started anything this time. Honestly, he’d been more blindsided than anything, something Emma regretted. 

“Look, I get it, I know I’m the one who messed up tonight. I know that, Killian, and I truly am sorry about that,” she stressed. “I know I was being a bitch to you, but can you at least understand where I was coming from? Even you said that Mal was worried about the optics.”

“I just wish you would have trusted me not to interfere like that, love,” Killian replied. He tentatively reached out and grabbed her hand. “I know what your career means to you, and we’re honestly not worried about the optics. Your resume speaks for itself. That’s why they want you. We’ll also be in two completely different departments.”

“But still under the same White House.”

“Yes, still under the same White House. We’ll probably still have to meet with HR and fill out some paperwork, but it’s not like I’d be your boss and you my assistant. It’d all be above the board,” Killian answered. His expression shifted. “You want this, don’t you?”

“Are you kidding me? It’s The Dream,” she emphasized. “What political science nerd doesn’t dream of someday working at the White House? Jesus, I’ll have to figure out a way to tell David without him getting a gleeful heart attack.”

“They’ll be quite proud. I know I am,” Killian said, and Emma knew he meant it. “My girlfriend is going to work for the President.”

“That would be more impressive if you didn’t already work for her.”

“If you want to talk about optics, it’s honestly the kind of shit the press eats up. They’ll be having pools on when the Rose Garden wedding might be.”

“God, Mary Margaret would die.” She could just imagine it now, her parents flanking her sides as they escorted her down the makeshift aisle, Killian wearing a navy suit and smiling brilliant. She flushed when she noticed Killian staring at her with a twinkle in his eye. “Does the press really bet on that stuff?”

“When they’re bored,” he shrugged. “I’d rather them focus on that than trying to drudge up a pantsuit scandal.”

“I don’t even remember the last time I saw Regina in a pantsuit.”

“Exactly."

They laughed together, the earlier tension slowly dissipating into something more tender. Knowing there was more left to be said, she told him, “I really am sorry for freaking out at you. I recognize that wasn’t fair.”

“I appreciate the apology, and I do recognize that this is overwhelming. Remember when I first got my job?” Killian replied, his expression soft

“I believe you wore mismatched shoes immediately after you found out.”

“And I vomited in my office trash can both before and after my first briefing,” he said. He’d never told her that part. “I truly am looking forward to seeing what you accomplish for the administration. I have a feeling that you’re going to be extraordinary.”

“Going to be? I thought I already was extraordinary,” she said with a laugh. He called her that often enough. Extraordinary. Fantastic. Beautiful. All the adjectives in between. 

“Haven’t you put me through enough tonight, woman?”

“Please, I’ve barely begun to put you through anything tonight,” Emma teased. She took triumph in the way his eyebrows practically disappeared into his hairline and the slight flush the colored his cheeks.

“Well then.”

“Someone did promise me that we’d make tonight a little NC-17."

“That I did.” He licked his lips. “Would that make this makeup sex or celebration sex?”

“Who says it can’t be both?” They both laughed as he chased her up the bedroom to truly celebrate the night. 

  
  



End file.
